When in the lonely souls, thoughts die, as ours to burial pits did fly, the earth, red-filled with tears that fell, cried out to us with strength’s last yell. How many times has this foe, sly, who posed as friend and brother, nigh, stabbed us with lies, sharp in our back, stabs now with truths, as real as fact. [chorus] Divisions sting, the forest cries, where bones do rest, where faith now dies. Like Icarus, the eagle flew, its final scream—freedom’s last view. This lonely world, by strings, is led, by those who twist the truth instead. To drown its aim in false applause, to please the ranks, bend all the laws. Symbols have crumbled, and the cross too, what of the fighters who stayed true? The press calls them a mob, no doubt, and soils the nation, day in, day out. Must I, like Job, wait in strife, to lose and suffer in search of life? In a misty forest, our fate does wait— of bullets, wars, and brother’s hate. [chorus] Divisions sting, the forest cries, where bones do rest, where faith now dies. Like Icarus, the eagle flew, its final scream—freedom’s last view.
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